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Jayce stepped on the ledge and stared down, to the rubble covering the sidewalk several meters bellow. It was a mistake. His intent evaporated instantly, and he quickly closed his eyes.
His thoughts wandered while he tried again to summon the will to take that final step. The limp body of the pink-haired teenage girl was the first image to come up. Her little sister crying, hysterical, the horrified face of her brothers. He heard at the trial that her father came up from the Undercity to recover her body.
It still felt unreal that his life ambition could end like this. Over the years, every time his research would reach a dead or when he over-worked himself to exhaustion it was the thought of helping people that pushed Jayce forward. And still. It came now to his mind now all the occasions he brushed off a permit form. Safety measures he disregarded because who else might get hurt but him? He'd been mostly alone in his lab. Caitlyn was never around unsupervised. What's the worst that could've happened?
It was his fault. He'd been arrogant, over-confident, thinking rules are for other people – people less capable than him, prone to making mistakes. But not Jayce.
The Council did not agree with him, not on the subject of his guilt. Probably because Jayce couldn't summon the courage to spurt anything about the subject of his research – create magic. Just thinking about the words caused him to shiver. Preposterous. He'd been charged with involuntary manslaughter, with a few aggravating circumstances for neglecting the Academy safety protocols. He'd been summarily expelled from the Academy, but jail time had been converted into a fine the Kiramanns covered out of some misplaced sense of accountability for his crimes. The girl's family would receive a compensation.
As if money could compensate for someone's life.
He held his breath and approached the ledge again, this time staring resolutely ahead.
"Am I interrupting?"
---
Viktor was quick to notice the sealed letter sitting on a clean patch of the broken desk. The wristband by the side was probably something important. More important still was the resolute way Jayce Talis approached the hole on the wall.
He felt like his mind watched the scene unfolding from above, detached in face of the urgency of the circumstances. I'm about to watch a man kill himself.
"Am I interrupting?" Jayce was jolted – luckily, away from the edge.
His first reaction was anger.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jayce turned, and Viktor saw as he recognized him as the Dean's assistant. His eyes snapped to the notebook in Viktor's hands. "Is that...? What are you doing with that?"
Jayce stared at his notes like one does to a spider walking through the wall, warily, but afraid to look away.
Viktor snapped the notebook closed. "I've been looking for you. I was intrigued by your research."
"You shouldn't be," Jayce snapped back. "That research's got a girl killed. I got a girl killed."
Is that what got us here? The part of Viktor's brain that wasn't in crisis management mode was surprised. He had assumed Jayce Talis wouldn't care much about the little girl, or even resent her for being the reason why his research was shelved. I guess I did thought he was the entitled sort just because he's a piltie.
"Eh, a whole set of circumstances got the girl killed, if you want to be precise," he said instead. "Only a few of them had to do with you."
"What the hell do you mean?" Jayce bristled.
"I mean what I said," Viktor doubled down. "You skipped a few safety checks along the way. She broke into your lab. Several small factors came together for this outcome. An accident, if you will. The Council said so. The question that remains is, why isn't that enough for you?"
Viktor wasn't really surprised that Jayce didn't have an answer for that. People don't usually decide to jump off buildings based on clinical, rational reasons.
"Why are you here?" Jayce insisted.
"I told you so." He had asked an enforcer for directions to the Talis family home, and the man said he'd just seen Mr. Talis walking to his old lab. Pure chance. "I wanted to talk about your work – this hextech theory of yours."
Jayce visibly shivered at the name. Oh. I see.
"You don't understand," even though Viktor was beginning to. "My whole life I spent over this research, over this idea of magic. You have no idea how beautiful it could be. I wanted to help people, to improve lives, and instead–"
It killed someone. Jayce's passion project turned murderous in his hands, leaving his reputation as a scientist in shambles in its wake.
"I never thought something like that could've happened, and that was my mistake. I should have. I should have been more careful in my methods, the materials, the way I conducted the research– And now it's all over. No one'll ever believe in me after this."
He went back to staring through the hole on the wall.
Viktor allowed himself a moment to let that sink in, leafing through Jayce's notebook without really looking. He did not agree with him. The research was solid, the possible outcomes could– No. It would be wrong of him to press Jayce about this now, dangerous even. Viktor felt like the least qualified person to help someone climb from the bottom of that particular pit.
He did it once himself, though.
"Nobody's ever believed in me, either," Viktor tried. "A poor cripple from the Undercity. I was an outsider the moment I stepped foot in Piltover. I didn't have the benefits of a patron or a name... I simply believed in myself. Which is why I'm here."
Jayce did not answer.
"I understand why you wouldn't want to continue this research. But you are wrong about your methods, about everything else. You are a decent scientist."
He scoffed. "I shouldn't be allowed in a lab again."
"Didn't you say you wanted to help people?" Viktor's reply was the tiniest bit inflamed, now. "There's plenty of ways to do that. Granted, not all of them will be this sort of grand breakthrough," he gestured to the notebook. "But they can still mean the world for a poor kid a few blocks away. If you feel like going there, I mean."
Viktor watched Jayce's conflicted expression at the thought of a new goal, probably dwelling on all the ways it did not compare to the previous one.
"I'll be honest. I came here because I wanted to help you complete your research. Failing that, I'd be glad to work with you on your next project. I enjoyed reading your notes. I still believe you're on to change the world, only... one small step at the time, I suppose."
What am I even saying. They were complete strangers. What reason Jayce Talis could have for wanting to work with him?
Jayce seemed to have a similar thought. He rubbed his face, watching Viktor as if he was something out of an hallucination.
"I don't even know your name."
"It's Viktor."
They were silent for a beat. "I'm Jayce." Viktor couldn't hold his nervous scoffing.
"Well, I'm aware. You signed about every page of your notes. Egotistical much?"
Too soon, maybe?, but Jayce did crack a smile. "You just said you'd like us to work together, and now you're insulting me."
"You'd better get used to it." Jayce's smile widened a little bit. Viktor slowly regained the blood flow on his fingertips. "I'll accompany you home," he declared.
"There's no need–", but Jayce stopped midsentence. Good. Perhaps only now he started to realize the seriousness of the circumstances Viktor just found him in.
Jayce did not protest any further. Viktor watched him take back his letter and the wristband – how he stared at the dark crystal embedded on the leather for a long moment, before putting it away in his pocket.
They walked in silence to the Talis family home. It was located not far from the Academy District, in a residential upper-middle class neighborhood. The streets were clean and well kept, and the buildings were fancy in a crowded, old-fashioned sort of way. Viktor, having been living in Piltover for the past couple years, was far too wearied off by the circumstances to pay the architecture any attention. The click of his cane and the soft padding of their footsteps were the only sounds in the dark.
"It's here," Jayce half announced, half mumbled.
"You should get in, then," Viktor said too quickly, to prevent Jayce from inviting him in. He knew he lived with his mother. What a way to finish the night that would be. Good evening, Mrs. Talis. Oh, just so you know, I just kept your son from jumping off a building. Have a good night. There was still light on the small window beside the door. Jayce's mom without a doubt was waiting for his return.
Viktor resolutely settled his mind on the problem at hand – Jayce Talis – and refused to think about an alternate reality in which Mrs. Talis waited for a son who never came back.
"Wait. About what you said earlier," Jayce appeared to be fumbling with his words. "About future projects."
A pause. "Do you want to discuss them now?"
"No, not now, just..." Viktor was speaking in hushed tones, and Jayce lowered his voice to match. "It's just, I did not answer you then. Your offer."
"Oh." Viktor hadn't really been expecting any answer at the time. "Well. Do you want to answer now?"
"Yes." Stuttered. "I mean, yes, I'd like to work in a future project with you. Something useful to the people of the undercity, maybe. Even though I am," stuttering again, "expelled."
Viktor shrugged. "The Piltover Academy does not hold the monopoly of all science. We'll figure it out."
Jayce braced his back against the door, as if he didn't want to go in just yet. "How can you be so sure of yourself?"
"Eh. Been there, done that. I didn't had much when I started. Certainly less than you have today." Money, a roof of his own. Certainty of his next meal. His mother. He briefly wondered how much of that Jayce would be able to guess by himself, before banishing the thought.
"Let's meet tomorrow," Jayce said quickly.
Ugh. I have to apply the test to Heimmerdinger's class on differential equations tomorrow. It took him about half a millisecond to realize he'd much rather meet with Jayce. "I'll be here at 9."
"Perfect. Yes," sounding relieved.
"See you, then."
"Yes. Good night," Jayce finally opened the door and got inside, still watching Viktor for a few more seconds.
It took Viktor two more blocks to realize he'd kept Jayce's notebook.
---
Jayce was, embarrassingly, pacing the front hall a whole hour before their appointment. They should have met at a café. No. Jayce should probably start saving money, since he was without a patron and his research grant had been cut.
How does one even start a project without funding? The answer, he knew, is – you don't. You scrape together some promising experimental results and pitch them to the first research council you can find. It had been ages since Jayce was forced to take those painfully bureaucratic first steps. His family name, his charismatic personality and his connections were quick to recommend him to the Kiramanns, and he hadn't want for money since. Now that he thinks about it, he didn't have as much as a functional work plan proposal the first time he pitched... hextech, to Cassandra Kiramann. Was any of his accomplishments real? Or was everything due to inflamed, empty speeches and being born on the right side of the river?
Viktor said the research was solid, he answered himself almost petulantly. He said he would like to work with me.
Truth to be told, he knew nothing about Heimerdinger's assistant before the day of the explosion. He'd spent the last twelve hours turning over every conference proceedings he had from the past two years, combing them through in search of Viktor's name. He only realized his mistake once the search returned nothing: he should be looking for Heimerdinger's instead, of course. He knew Heimerdinger himself had been away from any practical research for years. After realizing that, Jayce was able to spot a few articles on mathematical foundations of quantum mechanics that had some acidic quality to the writing that reminded him strongly of their previous dialogues.
He had been completely engrossed by the sure and clinical way with which Viktor – no, he should say Heimerdinger – handled the complex subject. It wasn't much to base an opinion on, he knew, but the truth is... Jayce badly wanted a reason to move forward. After the the shock of having his life-long passion project coming apart in his hands, the dead girl, and his expulsion from the Academy, he would be satisfied with a offer half as solid as Viktor's.
The banging at the door jolted Jayce out of his musings. The noise came sharp and at knee level. Once Jayce opened the door, he couldn't even see Viktor properly behind the huge cardboard box he carried.
"Viktor! What on earth–", he was prevented from continuing by having the box shoved on his hands. He scrambled to catch it – the lid was kept from closing by several gadgets, books, disassembled pieces of machinery and crumpled pieces of paper.
"Good morning." Free from his charge, Viktor fixed his jacket. He looked smug for whatever reason. "I trust you have some place we can work?"
"Of course, I made some space in a spare bedroom. Please come in," Jayce closed the door behind his guest before leading the way. His mother was supervising a delivery at the factory and wouldn't be home for another couple hours, thankfully. He wasn't ready for her expectant glances, ever hopeful that her son would be out of his catatonic state and back to his former self.
The guest bedroom he occupied last night was... tiny. It was less crammed once he removed the bed in exchange for a desk, but still. Jayce felt his face burning with humiliation, remembering the Kiramann's loft he once used as laboratory, but the feeling went away quickly when Viktor made made himself home without comments.
"I could have met you closer to the Academy," Jayce dropped the box at the empty desk. It wasn't heavy, but Viktor would have carried it one-handed to be able to still use his cane.
"It's no hassle," he answered, folding his sleeves and exposing bone-thin wrists and forearms. Looking around. "I do need to sit down now, though."
"Here," Jayce wheeled the comfortable chair in his direction, taking the three-legged stool for himself.
His guest thanked him, and propped his leg up a second stool Jayce had left close by. He joined his fingers at the tips and busied himself with the task of watching Jayce intently. Jayce waited holding his breath.
"So?" Viktor gestured one sharp eyebrow to the box. "Does anything spark your interest?"
It took Jayce about ten minutes of unpacking to realize what he was looking at. The box had a jumble of notes and prototypes on varying stages of completion, projects that Viktor had started and then attached tiny post-its with scrabbled comments on the reason why it was dropped. Is was a portfolio of sorts, hastily put together by the way some pages had apparently been ripped unceremoniously from their notebooks. Viktor might or might not have some expectant air about him while he waited for Jayce's comments.
After digging at the box in silence for a few more minutes, Jayce at last found some circular pieces of a mesh-like structure he couldn't guess the use for. "What's this one?"
"My first attempt at a reusable filtering module for the standard respirators."
"What, with only fiberglass? No way."
"This piece is only the pre-filter for larger particles. The structure had other modules," he fished other similar disks from the box, "but I still couldn't make it both washable and small enough to fit in the filter cartridge."
"What types of mechanical filters have you tried?"
Viktor shoved things aside to get to a bundle of notes at the bottom of the box, and just like that – off they went. His answer led to more questions which led to more scrambling with the tiny circular pieces, and then to books, and then to furiously scribbled notes on a fresh piece of paper. When they reached the wall for that particular project, Jayce didn't even had the time to be frustrated – the next gadget had caught his attention, and they're off again.
He couldn't recall a time when he was that interested by any research besides his own. Viktor's notes weren't neat and organized (or even signed), but they both shared some sort of nervous energy on their shaky handwriting, as if the pen was eager to dispose of each idea as fast as possible to give way to next one. Jayce had a glimpse of what Viktor must have felt when reading his notes from his previous research, some sort of matching of psyches on a cosmic level. Even the most complex next step on Viktor's reasoning came naturally to Jayce, like a shared language only the two of them could speak.
The noise of the front door opening and closing brought Jayce's attention back to the present. His mother was back. For a few hours, Jayce had completely forgot he was at his family home and not at the lab in the Academy District. He looked around the tiny guest-room-made-laboratory.
The box had been completely disassembled. Viktor's prototypes were scattered around every surface, surrounded by notes new and old. A corner of the table had coffee and biscuits Jayce didn't even remember fetching. Viktor had his nose shoved in a book still mumbling about electrostatic-charged materials, his bad leg propped back on the stool.
Maybe for the first time Jayce truly observed him. The way his face scrunched up at the words on the page as if personally affronted by their lack of usefulness. He was too thin, too pale. He also felt like the first real person Jayce had met in god knew how long.
"Jayce, son...? Are you..." Ximena Talis carefully pushed the half-open door, stopping on her tracks at the completely redecorated guest room. Her eyes took in the mess of notes and clutter and zeroed on Viktor.
"Mrs. Talis," Viktor for a moment looked less pale as his face blushed slightly. He swayed lightly getting up on his feet, and Jayce hastily took two whole steps to cross the room and hand him his cane. "It ts a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine...?"
"Viktor," they said at the same time. Ximena's baffled gaze was swinging from one to the other. Viktor laughed the small huffed sound that Jayce had begun to associate with nervousness.
"You didn't told me you'd be receiving a guest, Jayce," she protested. "I'd have fixed something for him to eat!"
It seemed that they matched opinions regarding Viktor being too thin. Jayce mumbled "some other time" at the same moment Viktor excused himself with "not necessary". A few seconds of awkward silence followed that grand conversation.
Viktor cleaned his throat and braced himself for conversing like a human being. "I met your son briefly at the Academy. I enlisted his help with some of my old projects."
"Oh," Jayce could see the layers of worry settling back in his mother's face when the Academy was mentioned. "Are you colleagues, then?"
"No," Jayce said. Colleague felt like the wrong word. Friend was probably better, but still felt lacking. Jayce's mind was still whirring when he placed a hand carefully on Viktor's shoulder.
"No, mom," he said. "Viktor's my new partner."
Even as Ximena's eyes widened slightly and Viktor huff-coughed again, Jayce couldn't bring himself to regret his choice of word. Partner felt just right.
---
With a heavy sigh, Vander wiped the last of the mugs lined up in the counter in front of him. He had washed all the glassware, dusted off the shelves with the expensive stuff, scrubbed every surface clean, and the clock had barely chimed midnight.
Powder wouldn't wake up from her nightly nightmare for another hour or so.
More than a few patrons had noticed the increasing cleanness of The Last Drop, and none of them felt like commenting. There wasn't anything to say, really. It spoke of lonely hours without sleep, from a chest carrying the heavy burden of fresh grief. People had offered Vander their condolences at Vi's funeral, some even more than condolences – he couldn't answer Sevika's hushed call for arms with more than a grunt and a weary sight. Vander wanted to have someone to blame, badly, but he simply wasn't prepared to find out that person might be himself. He had committed that mistake before and wasn't eager to do it again.
The front door opened and closed. Vander's brain, addled by the lack of
consistent rest over the past week, took a few more seconds than usual to grumble that they were done for the night.
"Vander."
The mug clattered on the woodboard floor, making some ungodly noise but without breaking. Vander didn't even notice – Silco was standing at the hall, hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself.
But he hates me, Vander watched the uneven scaring covering his face, the glowing eye. I did that, and he hates me.
"Please," Vander breathed out, "I can't fight right now."
Silco's only reaction was the widening of his eyes.
"This is the reason why you think I came? To finish you up while you're on your lowest?"
He didn't look like he was poised to fight. He undoubtedly had any amount of hidden weapons under his clothes, but his stance lacked the coiled spring energy Vander knew so well. Vander's hand went to the old scar on his left arm as if by instinct. No, Silco didn't come to fight.
"I looked for you everywhere." To apologize. "It was as if you'd dropped out of the face of the planet."
"Maybe I did." He shrugged.
"Why are you here?"
Silco took so long to answer that Vander had ceased to expect it and was discreetly reaching for the door. He could get down the stairs and grab Powder in the blink of an eye. He could take the hidden exit for emergencies and then get out through the back alley. But he would not fight Silco again.
"I heard about Violet," Silco whispered instead. "And then..."
He removed something from his pocket – slowly, as if he knew Vander was braced for a knife. It has worse, if that was even possible. It was a letter.
"Oh," it was the only thing that Vander could say as his fingers closed on the paper Silco handed him, sticky from years of dust and humidity waiting by their old dressing-room-turned-headquarters at the mines.
And then he understood. He imagined Silco receiving the news about the death of Felicia's daughter, the one they named together, how he would sit down heavily and brace his forehead in one hand. He would need to mourn the child – mourn his old friend, really – maybe even watch the funeral from afar – but where else could he go? He thought Vander still wanted him dead, he couldn't just stroll inside The Last Drop, he needed a place he could revisit their old times together without drawing any attention–
He went to the mines. About five years late.
Vander watched the faded words. God, I'm shit at this. I'm sorry. When she died, I lost my head. The room was in utter silence.
The sound of paper ripping broke it. Silco took a step back, looking alarmed for the first time. Vander knew well how to read his expression – so he did allowed himself to hope for a reconciliation. Silco's wariness was a fresh reminder of what Vander had done.
"I was right, back then," Vander said. "This is a shitty apology. Will you allow me to try and do better?"
He did not wait for an answer. He scoffed, shredding the letter into tiny pieces.
"The dirt was in both our hands? I tried to fucking drown you, and that was the best I could come up with? That night, after everything that happened... Everyone we'd lost... I still managed this one last mistake." The paper crumbs were escaping between his fingers and falling on the floor. "Ridiculous self-centered obstinate slob of sewer sludge–"
Vander looked down. Silco's hands were there stilling his own. He took a deep breath, and tried again.
"I chose to put the all blame on you rather than facing my own guilt. When everything went wrong, before I could accept all the ways we'd been... utterly defeated, the denial made me violent. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."
The silence stretched endlessly.
"You weren't wrong." The words were slow to leave Silco's lips, as if they did so against his will. "On your letter, I mean. Everything we did back then, we did together. All the consequences are in both our hands."
Vander took a few more seconds to realize he wasn't accepting his apology, only debating him on the share of his guilt. It wasn't a surprise, not really, even if Silco did come to The Last Drop to hear it from his own mouth. It had been five years of hatred, after all.
"I still tried to drown you," he insisted.
"Well. That was very fucked up of you. But if you had succeeded, then your share of the guilt would be only one person bigger then mine, I suppose."
"You don't have to accept my apology," Vander said. Please just say so.
"I never expected to get any."
Vander sat heavily on one of the bar stools. He rubbed his face with one hand, and chuckled. It was amusing, in a way, to have first-hand knowledge that Silco remained just as hard to pin down as he's always been. "I guess I did had a reputation."
"Would you feel better if I'm fully honest? It was terrifying. I'd seen you unleash your anger before, but never at me. It sent me into hiding for years. I would've hided for the rest of my life, if it wasn't for your shitty apology letter."
Vander's throat closed despite Silco's attempt at humor. He managed to prevent himself from apologizing again – he already said everything he could, and it was not his intention to coerce Silco into empty acceptance.
"I'm glad my shitty letter convinced you to come here, at least", he said instead. "Even if we go separate ways, I'm thankful that I had one last chance to apologize properly."
Silco said nothing to that. They remained in silence for a few more minutes, enough for Vander to fully accept that he wouldn't get any answer today. Well. Maybe this means we'll see each other again. The thought brought him the first hint of happiness in what felt like a very long time.
"Tell me what happened."
His tone meant Violet without room for doubt. The tiny spark of excitement shrived and died inside Vander's chest. He told him.
Vander began months earlier – years even, with Vi's firsts bouts for independence and her anger at everything. Back then Vander thought it would be enough to keep a close eye and spit pacifying words at the children whenever the spirits were heightened. He sort of expected something like this to happen, that the kids would caught the scent of a heist and go for it without telling him. But he did not expect the outcome.
Silco said nothing as Vander rambled facts seemingly unconnected with the accident that caused Vi's death. They'd seated at the counter and were watching their empty hands as they talked.
"And what about the explosion?" Silco asked. "Are you sure– I mean. We know better than anyone what kind of peacekeeping the enforcers do."
Vander laughed without humor. "Wouldn't that be convenient? Same old enemy to blame. But no. The children said the enforcers only arrived at the scene after the explosion."
"And the boy? The scientist?"
"Almost blown up as well. It was an accident."
The silence stretched again.
Time enough for Vander to begin to wonder about Silco being here. He came to talk about my letter. He came to mourn. Vander was grieving, but his mind was still sharp. And he'd known Silco for a very long time.
"What exactly," he began slowly, "are you doing here?"
He was surprised when Silco answered promptly this time. "Sevika talked to me."
"Sevika?" Vander tried to make sense of that information. How on earth did Sevika know where to find Silco, and Vander did not? Sneaky double-faced son of a lung-blighted rat. He scoffed. "I guess her intention wasn't for us to make peace."
Silco scoffed back. "Of course not. She wants a rebellion."
"Of course she does," he grunted. Couldn't get one with me, went to the next on the line.
But was Silco on the line, though? He came clean to Vander about Sevika. It sounded like his mind was made about that subject even before he entered The Last Drop. Was he here to make an ultimatum? Wanted a new rebellion? Why bring the letter, then? Why the fuck is he here? Vander's sleep-deprived mind reached its limit and whirred to a halt. He made his decision.
"There's something else." He went behind the counter, to the hidden drawer besides the panic button.
Silco's eye went from Vander's face to the blue and gold cylinder he handed him and back again. He uncorked the case and got the coiled piece of paper inside. Vander watched him as he made his way through Sheriff Grayson's condolences message.
Silco was sharp to the point. "They do fear you'll use her death to rally the Undercity again."
"Looks like it."
For a moment it felt like Silco was doing all the math – running the number on who would fight, where to get supplies, weighing whether they could do it or not. Like the last time, his eyes held the spark that lighted the bonfire and caused the death of so many of their friends.
"Well." Silco finally rolled the message back and returned it to the case. "They don't know shit about you, then."
"Don't you think we could do it?" Vander insisted. Part of his mind was horrified at him, fearing Silco would agree to it and they would have to fight again. He stifled it, though. Several years had passed. He needed to know where Silco stood today.
But Silco was shaking his head already, seemly thinking the same thing.
"Five years ago, maybe. You're a family man now." Silco's words were prevented from sounding harsh by the tiniest smirk. "All these idiots whispering about a revolution. Just look at you."
It felt good, in a way, to have the truth spitted out loud without reserves. It had been tiring to keep the facade of the Hound of The Underworld for all those years when in truth Vander's priorities had so drastically changed. Trust Silco to take one look at him and see trough a five years long act.
"I'll keep this, though" the blue and gold case vanished among Silco's clothes. He got up from his stool, meaning to leave. "There are points of Sheriff Grayson's message I'd like to dwell upon."
Vander was caught by surprise at his sudden retreat, and more so by the way his chest was constricted by the fact. In the end he managed only a grunt of protest, getting up as well, but Silco was already going for the door.
Silco huffed a laugh, turning back to face him as he walked. The smile in his lips lasted for less than a second, but it evoked the image of Vander's old friend with the strength of a freight train.
"Don't worry, I'll return it to you tomorrow. I still haven't answered your apology, after all."